


Weaving dreams

by strikedawn



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: M/M, Post Game spoilers (?), Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 09:10:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11377077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strikedawn/pseuds/strikedawn
Summary: He sleeps as he works, weaving the foam of the sea as he snores softly in his perch. The dreamweaver breathes, listens, as voices call a name that he sometimes does not remember as his own and send with the wind words that are meant for his ears, for his heart.The dreamweaver listens, and with those words he creates dreams.





	Weaving dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Just a small drabble that I felt like sharing! Hope you guys like it! <3

There is a place, out of the human world, that is incongruence in itself. Darkness and light linger in the corners of that place in fine threads of all shades of blue, clinging to every surface, even to the air that smells of vanilla and mint. Music that comes from nowhere floats in the breeze, stars that dot the morning sky burn in ice-cold fire, and the sea rolls back and away from the shore as if scared, leaving behind a thick foam with which the most beautiful thoughts are shaped into dreams.

It is the dreamweaver’s beach, where time doesn’t flow and still seasons pass.

He sleeps as he works, weaving the foam of the sea as he snores softly in his perch. The dreamweaver breathes, listens, as voices call a name that he sometimes does not remember as his own and send with the wind words that are meant for his ears, for his heart.

The dreamweaver listens, and with those words he creates dreams.

To the girl that pours her heart out on a warm evening after a long, long battle, he sends the dream of peace. A world unified under the peaceful reign of two nations no longer at war. He sends her the memory of smiles from people she can no longer see, a reminder that she is still needed, still cherished. Her time as the squire is over once again, but her fight isn’t.

He knows she will do amazing, no matter what.

To the girl with the heavy mantle over her shoulders, the one who sends him thousands of words with a single tear, he sends the dream of adventure. A world full of unknown things, of opportunities yet to be unearthed, of possibilities so endless they do not fit in a single carriage. He smiles as he weaves this dream, and pours a small piece of his own dream into it, feeling a bit selfish but not enough to refrain himself.

He sends the dream away with the smell of curry buns, and the dream floats away in the strongest gust of wind he has ever felt in his realm.

There is a village in a mountain, not very far away from his beach, that sends warm words to him from time to time. They’re soft and tender, almost as if they didn’t want to perturb his sleep, but the dreamweaver hears them anyway, and uses the words to create beautiful dreams that smell of fresh snow and warm sun. The feeling of home worms its way through his weaving, silent but strong, and so does the sound of thunder that he can feel echoing in his heart.

He lets the dream fly away with the taste of an apology. He knows it has been far too long, and he apologizes for not saying beforehand how late he would be.

There are others who talk to him as well, and to them, he sends the most beautiful dreams he can come up with. With the slightly aggressive words of a very mature girl, the dreamweaver creates the dream of hope. There is someone whom she desperately wants to see, and the dreamweaver sends her the echo of a promise made long ago. He hasn’t forgotten and neither should she. He doesn’t want her to lose her hope.

To the man who forces his voice to sound carefree, he sends the dream of happy moments. The man is a bright presence in all of them, the culprit of the kind of laughter that hurts at the sides and brings tears to the eyes. The dreamweaver shows him those moments in his dream, shows him the fortitude and encouragement he gives naturally, and adds the same promise to it he had added to the dream of the mature girl. He owes it to them both.

He will not forget.

There is a woman clad in fire that sends her words to him in paper cranes. He reads them with his eyes closed after letting them graze his cheeks, the touch soft like the brush of a feather. To her, he sends the most vibrant of dreams, because she is vibrant and warm like the sun and she deserves every happy dream he can create. He sends her the exciting parts of an adventure he will never forget, the happiness at travelling the world, at helping it thrive and prosper. There is not an ounce of regret in the dreams he makes for her, not because he hides it, but because there really is none. He can never regret his choices, not when all the words that reach him are so full of happiness and warmth.

He sends the dreams to her with a fiery heart, hoping she will understand.

There is someone else he makes dreams for, but those are different in a way not even the dreamweaver can explain. The words that reach him are also different from the rest; they are words that speak of bravery and encouragement, of waiting and adventure and friendship and love, love, _love—_ So much love that the dreamweaver is almost sad to let go of the words to lace them with the sea foam, always hanging onto them for a little bit longer before finally letting them form the dream.

But the words also taste of yearning. The person who speaks the words yearns for something the dreamweaver has no power over, and he finds himself reaching for that person, sleepy heart skipping a joyful beat each time that voice reaches him.

He listens intently, wishing, praying, for the day when he can hear those words without the aid of the wind.

‘ _Sorey’,_ the person always starts with that name, and the dreamweaver finally recognizes it as his own. ‘ _Sorey, our dream is so near. I can feel it in my bones, I can see it as the years go by. You are bringing our dream to reality and that makes me so happy… I can’t wait for the day you can watch it unfold with me.’_

_‘Sorey, I’m back.’_ He says on a different occasion, and the dreamweaver feels his whole conscience stirring at the sound of his voice. ‘ _I know it hasn’t been too long since last time… But I miss you. Still, every time a human smiles at me or simply interacts with me gives me strength. I know one day you’ll be back, and we’ll enjoy this new world together. I have lots of things to show you.’_

_‘Sorey, you’ve been sleeping for far too long. Wake up already, lazy butt!’_

The dreamweaver — _Sorey—_ , listens to that sweet voice once again before starting to create a dream for him, for the voice that he knows as _Mikleo’s._ And into that dream he pours a love that burns brighter than the stars in his beach, stronger than the fire of the sleeping dragon by his side, everlasting like the amount of stories in his heart. He pours gratitude and familiarity into it, pours the feel of soft grass under small, naked feet, and the feel of a soft hand on a slowly-getting-rougher one. He adds the taste of one’s favorite dessert, and the taste of a first kiss delivered by nervous lips. He adds, with a cheeky smile, the idea of a next first kiss, the passion and need behind it, and hopes it will give Mikleo something nice to think about once the dream is over.

But, most important of it all, he sends with the dream his own words. Lets his voice carry into his dream for Mikleo’s ears alone, whispers a promise alongside the feelings and hopes for them to make Mikleo understand everything he wants to say but can’t just yet.

He speaks to him from his slumber, and he says nothing but the truth.

‘ _We will be together soon, Mikleo! I can’t wait to see you again.'_


End file.
